


For Warmth

by semele



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It gets warmer once spring comes, and then the weather turns. It feels like a betrayal.</p><p>Prompt: "we are forced to share the bed and during the night someone gets a little bit handsy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Warmth

It’s for warmth. Of course it is.

Truth is, the weather isn’t even as bad as it used to be. If Bellamy’s count is right, it should be around March already, and they even had their first warm days; warm enough to wash some blankets, and even brave first baths in heated up water they hauled from the stream. It’s getting warmer. It’s supposed to be getting warmer.

Except, as it turns out, the ground cares nothing for their high hopes, and after a few warm days, the weather takes a turn again. It happens overnight, and feels almost like a cold slap in the face, makes Bellamy want to curl inside himself.

As for Raven, she hates everything the world stands for, judging by the sounds coming from her workshop.

They’re being ridiculous. Of course they are. But it still feels like a betrayal, no matter how many times Lincoln explains that this is just how the ground is, wavy and shaky, not neat and linear like their space minds perhaps like to imagine. Spring is fickle, he explains with an amused little smile he’s trying very hard to hide. It just happens. Grab extra blankets.

Oh well. When Bellamy visits Raven’s workshop after dinner, it’s clear that while she understands the science behind weather fluctuations, she still takes it personally.

“It won’t be long now,” he tells her quietly, and she whips her head up as if surprised that he cares. “It’ll likely take a warm turn again in a few days.”

“Right. Sure.”

“That’s what Lincoln says.”

“I heard him.”

***

So maybe it really is for warmth.

The way it is is, Bellamy shows up at Raven’s with two extra blankets soon after supper, and drops them on her bed.

“They’re clean,” he explains when she looks at him incredulously. “Thought you could use them.”

Because she was angry, her whole workshop buzzing with rage, and he needs her to have some peace in this tumultuous head of hers.

(Because he can’t handle her looking like she was betrayed yet again.)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she bristles, and doesn't even touch the blankets. “You need them.”

“They’re clean.” Stubborn, almost deliberately obtuse. “Take them.”

What happens next feels oddly like a staring contest with a cat. Or so Bellamy imagines. Raven searches his face for God only knows what, then looks back at the blankets, quiet, as if she hoped they’d give her a way out of a stalemate.

“Fine,” she says eventually. “Then you stay, too. You look gross when you catch a cold.”

It’s not like they never shared a bed before. Back in January, when the ground was frozen and winds got so cold just running out to pee left you chilled to the bone for the next hour, they slept in freaking human piles; cots pushed together in bigger tents, and six, eight people shivering under shared blankets, praying to live, to make it through. In the end, they did. Most of them did.

But this is different. This is just him and Raven, and no matter how ugly and personal the sudden cold feels, neither will freeze from it at this time of the year. Does he still kick off his shoes and muddy pants, and slide under Raven’s blankets? He sure as hell does.

That bath they braved once they felt the wind turn was three days ago, so they’re starting to smell again, but no one’s fussy about that after last winter, and anyway, it doesn’t really matter. Because Raven, encouraged by his open arms, sinks right into them as if daring him to deny her, and ends up with her face pressed to his chest.

For warmth. Mm. Right. That’s why he’s biting his lip not to kiss her.

It’s not like she is oblivious to the tension that suddenly rises between them. The bed is too small, the air suddenly toasty warm, and maybe they’ve been looking for an excuse for months. Raven squirms in his arms trying to find a comfortable position for her legs, but she’s shockingly careful where she touches him, as if wary not to set off an explosion.

They’re fools. That’s who they are.

Eventually she turns away from him, her buttocks pressed right against his groin, and he still puts his arm around her waist, still nuzzles at the back of her head. It all matters somehow. That he knew she was hurt. That she cared enough not to let him leave. That they’re here together.

Slowly, breath held, he runs his hand down Raven’s side, and feels her shiver when he reaches her hip. Feels her press harder against him.

“Do you want…” Fingers moving an inch to the front, brushing against her waistband, breathless. 

He can barely hear her whispered assent, but the furious nod she gives is unmistakable, so he doesn’t hesitate. When he pushes his hand inside her underwear, he doesn’t hesitate at all.

She is wet, and warm, and shaky, suddenly so tiny in her vulnerability, and he starts cooing to her as he touches her slowly. It’s clumsy at best, his fingers are calloused and slightly stiff from how they work knives, and axes, and shovels almost every day now, but he does the best he can. Listens to Raven’s shaky breath for cues, and strokes her like this is the warmest thing he’s done in his life.

The next night, she shows up in his tent with her chin pushed forward in a silent challenge. When he doesn’t protest, she lies down behind him in his narrow cot, and throws her arm around his waist.


End file.
